Tribalism

Modern society often prides itself on being rational, technological, and liberated from the constraints that once shaped traditional communal or tribal life. Yet beneath the surface, many behaviours, patterns of affiliation, and symbolic allegiances in modern urban life — especially in a bustling metropolis like London — reveal strong parallels with what might be termed “tribal.” Although these modern tribes do not gather around campfires in remote homesteads, nor do they rely on local chieftains for daily governance, people continue to organise themselves around shared beliefs, identities, and spaces. Whether it is the collective adoration of celebrities, powerful brand allegiances, virtual communities on social media, or urban subcultures that take on quasi-religious significance, modern Londoners demonstrate that “tribal” impulses are alive and well in the twenty-first century. What follows is an exploration of how life in inner-city London mirrors or recreates aspects of tribalism and why calling these phenomena “tribal” can provide insights into modern urban dynamics.

First, consider the foundation of tribal organisation: identity. Traditional tribes typically revolve around kinship ties, lineage, or geographic territories. In a city like London, such ties are seldom based on direct family relationships or the immediate physical environment. Instead, common interests or shared lifestyles create clusters of belonging. The punk or goth subcultures, for instance, once identified by distinctive clothing, music, and philosophies, provided (and, in pockets, still provide) a sense of unity and cohesiveness comparable to that found in small, close-knit tribes. Whether they were congregating at a particular music venue or frequenting specific pubs, members of these subcultures were instantly recognisable to one another through sartorial signals — much like a tribal marking that would distinguish one group from another. Their group identity wasn’t formed via ancestry or tradition but by embracing a particular worldview, aesthetic, and shared stories about the meaning of their subculture.

In the digital era, this kind of identity-building has migrated onto online platforms and social media. Algorithms and global connectivity amplify these “tribal” tendencies by bringing like-minded people into virtual contact. If a Londoner has a particular obsession or a niche interest — be it a pop singer, a conspiracy theory, a political cause, or even a fictional universe — there will be innumerable online groups dedicated to that passion. Over time, these groups develop cultural norms, unspoken rules, and insider jargon. To an outsider, these conversations and memes can seem bewildering, even intimidating. But to the initiated, these norms provide structure and security, much as tribal laws do. Within the confines of certain online spaces, members learn how to navigate hierarchies (who are the influential voices or “elders” in the group?), and they gain social capital by posting new information, witty responses, or “correct” viewpoints that fortify the group’s collective identity.

Another classic feature of tribal life is the presence of “sacred objects” or “totems.” Historically, these might be spirit animals, religious idols, or revered ancestors. In contemporary London, these can manifest in unexpected ways. One might say that, for many people, Apple products serve as a technological totem. Consider the release of a new iPhone: crowds gather outside stores, some even camping overnight, reminiscent of a quasi-religious vigil. The brand loyalty displayed sometimes surpasses what one might rationally expect for what is, at its most basic level, a phone. Similarly, football clubs become the focal point of tribal identity, with fans deriving immense pride, unity, and at times hostility towards rival clubs. The emblems, chants, scarves, and stadium gatherings create a sense of belonging that is not unlike that found in tribal ceremonies.

In the realm of modern media, celebrity worship can also be understood through a tribal lens. Traditional tribes often exalted warriors, shamans, or chieftains, attributing to them near-mythical qualities. Similarly, modern culture elevates celebrities — be they television stars, reality show personalities, sports icons, or online influencers — to the status of modern-day demigods. Fans track every public movement, parse every social media post, and sometimes organise mass gatherings or undertake pilgrimages to see their icons. These celebrities, in turn, foster loyalty by directly engaging with fans through tweets, videos, or staged meet-and-greets, creating the impression of a personal bond. To outsiders, such adoration can seem bizarre or exaggerated. But to fans, it forms a meaningful part of their group identity — a tribe brought together by the shared adulation of a public figure.

Moreover, tribal life historically involved the passing down of shared myths and narratives. These were often tales that explained origins or guided moral behaviour. In modern London, people frequently align themselves with stories from popular culture. For instance, the Harry Potter series has given rise to legions of dedicated fans who identify strongly with specific “houses” (Gryffindor, Slytherin, Ravenclaw, Hufflepuff) and build entire online and offline communities around them. They quote lines from the books, adopt the house colours, attend conventions, and use these affiliations as markers of personality or values. To some extent, it’s a modern mythos that resonates deeply, becoming an integral part of self-expression. The same applies to science fiction franchises like Star Trek, whose devotees meet at conventions, use invented languages (Klingon, for instance), and navigate social hierarchies within fan forums.

When we shift our lens to politics and social issues, the “tribal” dimension is again evident. London, like most global cities, has a vibrant political landscape with a myriad of movements — some mainstream, some fringe. These movements can take on tribal qualities when adherents adopt group identities so firmly that dissent within the group is viewed as disloyal, while criticism from outside is often met with defensive hostility. For instance, political factions sometimes foster “echo chambers” in which everyone shares similar viewpoints, reinforcing the group’s ethos and elevating figureheads or spokespersons who serve as the group’s symbolic leaders. In these environments, loyalty is paramount, critical thinking can be sidelined in favour of group cohesion, and there can be strict boundaries about which opinions are “acceptable.” This kind of dynamic echoes the protective nature of traditional tribes, where the group’s survival (literal or ideological) is more important than accommodating external perspectives.

Yet another dimension of tribalism relates to territory. In pre-modern times, territorial boundaries were often fiercely guarded, and crossing them without invitation could provoke conflict. In a modern metropolis like London, territorial disputes don’t necessarily revolve around farmland or water sources, but one can observe the phenomenon in urban neighbourhood identities. Areas such as Brixton, Hackney, Peckham, Camden, or Notting Hill all have their unique cultural signatures, histories, and reputations. Residents often exhibit pride in these local cultures, identifying closely with them in ways reminiscent of tribal homelands. Gentrification struggles, for example, can be interpreted partly as territorial tensions, with established residents feeling a sense of intrusion and cultural displacement when wealthier newcomers move into historically working-class or ethnic minority areas. Street art, community projects, and locally owned businesses become emblems of belonging and rallying points for protecting the local vibe — much like the totems or ancestral grounds of tribal societies.

Additionally, gang culture in parts of inner-city London operates very much on tribal lines. Street gangs frequently rely on strict codes of loyalty, have rituals for initiation, and enforce boundaries — both physical and symbolic — to maintain group identity and control. Rival gangs might each claim their patch of the city as their exclusive domain, causing conflicts that resemble territorial battles. Hierarchies within these gangs position certain members as leaders who hold power and make decisions, while younger or junior members must prove themselves through tasks that demonstrate their commitment. The intense group loyalty and the readiness to defend territory or honour at all costs speak to deeply rooted human instincts for belonging, protection, and identity.

Another fascinating aspect to consider is how modern tribes in London replicate the gossip and rumour channels found in traditional villages or clans. In smaller tribal communities, word-of-mouth served as the main source of information about everything from practical news (weather, harvests) to moral judgments (who was breaking the community’s code of conduct). Today, social media platforms like Twitter, Instagram, and TikTok have become digital equivalents of the village square. People share rumours, pass judgment, voice moral outrage, and form alliances or enmities in response to the latest trending topic. The speed and reach of this “digital gossip” can greatly exceed that of a small village, but the fundamental dynamic is similar: people in a group rely on information from peers to understand what is happening, to form opinions, and to protect their sense of belonging.

One could argue that these quasi-tribal affiliations, rituals, and loyalties are simply ways for humans to adapt to life in a vast, often impersonal metropolis. London’s sheer size can be alienating, and forming smaller “tribes” helps people find a sense of comfort, community, and recognition. In a large urban environment, individuals risk feeling like anonymous cogs in a giant machine; belonging to a subculture, fan group, or local community can reintroduce a sense of intimacy and identity. The universal human need for acceptance and shared purpose remains consistent through time, even if the forms those social bonds take have changed from one era to another.

Furthermore, digital technology and mass media serve to magnify both the positives and negatives of tribalism. On the one hand, these spaces offer unprecedented access to communities of like-minded people, which can be a source of support and creative collaboration. On the other hand, the tribal urge to exclude, to demonise outsiders, or to zealously defend one’s group can lead to polarisation and hostility. In political discourse, for example, the conversation can quickly degenerate into tribal warfare, where each side reaffirms its own moral righteousness and refuses to engage with the perspective of the “other.” Indeed, the online environment, with its immediacy and anonymity, can sometimes turbocharge the more divisive aspects of tribal behaviour, producing toxic exchanges or “cancel culture” phenomena that mirror old-fashioned rites of shunning or exiling group members who break certain taboos.

Celebrity culture, too, demonstrates both sides of this phenomenon. On the positive side, fandoms can be inclusive spaces where people share their passions, engage in creative pursuits (fan art, fan fiction, cosplay), and create networks of friendship. On the negative side, they can become viciously protective, attacking critics, engaging in online harassment, and shutting down dissent. The parallels with ancient tribal communities — where loyalty was rewarded and treachery could lead to banishment — are striking. A glance at the comment sections beneath celebrity gossip articles or Twitter posts often reveals how quickly fans (or “stans”) band together in an “us vs. them” mentality.

Meanwhile, another defining characteristic of tribal societies was the mutual support system. Extended families and close communities ensured that members received help in times of hardship. Urban tribalism can similarly manifest in the supportive frameworks of local charities, neighbourhood groups, or grassroots organisations in London. While these are formalised to some extent (registered charities, community centres, food banks), they also rely heavily on volunteers who share a common sense of duty or belonging. That collective ethos — “We look after our own” — is undeniably tribal in essence. People channel their shared identity into practical aid, reflecting the time-honoured principle that within a tribe, reciprocity ensures survival.

Likewise, the concept of rites of passage can be mapped onto modern events. Traditional tribal societies marked important life transitions — birth, puberty, marriage, death — through communal ceremonies. In modern London, certain milestones still carry communal weight: finishing a degree, moving into a new flat, landing a prestigious job, or even throwing a lavish wedding. These events aren’t just individual achievements; they’re moments where friends, family, and sometimes entire social circles gather to reaffirm group bonds and celebrate the continuity of their shared culture. The collective energies poured into organising these celebrations, from baby showers to stag/hen parties, echo the communal festivals of old, albeit adapted to an urban, often secular, context.

One should also not overlook the role of storytelling and mythology in these modern tribes. Tribal communities frequently pass on oral histories, legends, and symbolic tales that convey moral lessons or bolster group pride. While modern London is saturated with media — films, music, advertising, viral videos — it is the curation and interpretation of these media that shape tribal bonds. People share favourite TV shows, recommend memes, and adopt specific cultural references. Those references become shibboleths: signs that someone is “one of us,” that they “get it.” Over time, an entire set of shared references and anecdotes forms a group’s internal mythology, including who did what at a certain event, which “legendary” performance was witnessed, and which celebrities or influencers are revered or detested. These modern myths might not be about deities or magical creatures, but they serve a parallel function in defining a collective identity and worldview.

Of course, describing modern life in London as “tribal” can be contentious because the term often carries connotations of primitivism or backwardness. Many people living in high-rise flats with sophisticated technology might bristle at the suggestion that they have anything in common with the small, kin-based societies that anthropology studies. Yet the underlying drives — community, belonging, shared symbols, group hierarchies, loyalty, and sometimes hostility towards outsiders — show remarkable consistency across time. Every era and every society deals with these impulses differently, but their presence remains a common thread. We might not wear ritual masks or paint our faces for war, but we do wear our favourite football shirts, brand logos, or subcultural attire, and we display them with a fervour that is reminiscent of tribal identity markers.

In sum, inner-city London life demonstrates that modern urbanites have not outgrown the basic human need for grouping together. If anything, modern technology, rampant commercialism, and hyper-connectivity have provided a new playground for these age-old instincts. Our tribes might form around fandoms, political ideologies, consumer choices, online memes, or local neighbourhoods, but they still revolve around shared symbols, allegiances, hierarchies, and narratives. The forms of conflict and cooperation we see — whether it’s fans rallying to defend their idol, or local residents banding together to resist gentrification — bear a striking resemblance to traditional tribal dynamics. The difference is largely in scale and medium. Instead of small clusters in rural villages, we now have millions of people in sprawling city districts, weaving new forms of connection across the internet and forging identities that transcend geographic boundaries even as they echo timeless patterns of tribal belonging.

Ultimately, by recognising the tribal elements at play, we can better understand why individuals and groups behave as they do, whether it involves loyalty to a football club, membership in a goth subculture, devotion to a celebrity, or engagement in online communities. Such recognition also highlights that our “modernity” does not immunise us from collective passions or from exclusionary impulses. By seeing ourselves as “tribal,” we acknowledge both the powerful bonds that hold us together and the latent conflicts that pit us against those who do not share our chosen identities. This dual aspect can guide us to harness the positive side of tribalism — cooperation, support, and community spirit — while mitigating the downsides of division and intolerance. In a diverse, multicultural city like London, this balancing act is crucial for fostering a vibrant urban environment where multiple tribes can coexist, interact, and thrive, each one a modern echo of humanity’s ancient communal heritage.